


Frozen

by BreakfastTea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Out of control Magic, also features Noct naming a baby, noctis is drugged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: When Noctis is drugged while defending a refugee centre in Insomnia, it's up to his friends to look out for him. However, when Noctis loses control of his magic, he makes their job that much harder.





	Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This goes out to the anon who requested an attempted abduction. I really hope you enjoy the story ^_^ And thank you so much for your patience! Crazy to think we're at the end of April and you requested this back in February. Wow!

Noctis was running late. Really, supremely late. He was supposed to be at the refugee centre ten minutes ago, but his training session with Gladio had overrun and Ignis hadn’t been around to give him a lift.

“This is what the press means when they call you spoiled,” Gladio observed as Noctis towelled the sweat off of his face. “You can’t rely on Ignis for everything.”

Noctis swallowed any smart responses. He didn’t have time for an argument.

“Run,” Gladio said. “You could use it. But take the backstreets. Don’t wanna cause any citizens to faint at the sight of their sweaty, grumpy prince running through the streets.”

Rolling his eyes, Noctis silenced any complaints even though it was pouring with rain and bitterly cold outside.

Gladio read his mind and tossed a hoodie at him. “There you go. Keep you nice a dry. And stop anyone from recognising you. Lots of protests about the war lately.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be.”

Rain lashed Noctis the moment he stepped out and pounded through the city’s streets. Unfortunately, it was an hour’s journey on foot from the Citadel’s training halls to the district where Noctis volunteered in the refugee centre. His volunteer work wasn’t a well-known fact, something he was incredibly grateful for. He knew the council wanted him to be more open about it, but then it felt like he was inviting people to think he only did it for the recognition, rather than because of a genuine desire to help people. He didn’t care what the council thought; he wasn’t interested in making sure his public image was that of a proper prince. Whatever that meant. He just wanted to do his bit to help out.

Remembering a shortcut, Noctis turned into one of the city’s marketplaces. The stalls were closing up for the day, meaning it wasn’t too busy. Racing through the rain, Noctis pulled his phone out and sent a message to the refugee centre’s manager while sprinting through the rain. _Apologies for my lateness. I will be with you shortly._

The woman’s response came through quickly. _Not to worry, Your Highness! The weather is awful today. Stay safe and we’ll see you soon._

Noctis looked up in time to see the woman he was about to crash into. He dodged her, only to crash into her stall instead. Flowers rained down with the rain. Blushing brightly, Noctis picked himself up and turned to the woman. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Here, let me help.”

“Try looking up from your phone once in a while and maybe things like this wouldn’t happen!” the woman barked at him.

“I’m sorry.” He gathered a bunch of flowers and handed them over.

“Yeah, yeah, you kids are all the same. Heads in your phones and – and oh. Oh!” She clapped her hands to her mouth, dropping the flowers she’d picked up. “Y-your Highness!” She dropped into a curtsey. “Forgive me! I had no idea it was – ”

Noctis hushed her and summoned his best manners. “Please, don’t worry. You were right; I should’ve looked where I was going.” He continued helping to restock the stall.

“N-no! You don’t need to be doing that. You must have far more important things to be doing.”

“It’s okay,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!”

Not bothering to remind her it was his fault, Noctis helped gather the flowers. By the time they’d finished, he was another ten minutes late.

“You be careful out there today,” the woman said. “All sorts coming around today. Protestors. Hmph. More like troublemakers if you ask me.”

Noctis thanked her for her warning and raced on. When he reached the refugee centre, he found a huge crowd outside, many of them waving signs and placards. The messages were hateful and bigoted, demanding the refugees leave and head home despite the fact that their homes had all been decimated by the war. The shouts and screams left Noctis’ ears ringing and his chest burning. What happened to people’s compassion?

He slipped through the crowd, his hood keeping his face covered – until someone in the crowd grabbed him, shouting abuse, telling him to go back to where he belonged beyond the Wall. Noctis’ hood fell back. The wild-eyed protestor stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. “Y-you! Y-you’re –”

Noctis’ disgust got the better of him. “Ashamed of people like you.”

The man’s face transformed with rage. “What would you know about suffering?” He then turned to the people surrounding them. “Prince Noctis is here! How about we tell the little bastard what it’s like out here in the real world!”

The crowd turned. Noctis saw countless people staring at him. The abuse started, the roars turning into meaningless nonsense. Moments later, people started throwing whatever was to hand at him. Noctis dodged and pushed people aside, not wanting to use weapons or magic against them no matter what. He broke through the protestors and made it into the refugee centre.

The manager, a woman called Rita, met him in the front hall. “I’m so sorry. Bloody protestors! Idiots, the lot of ‘em,” she said, reaching for him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, thank you,” Noctis said.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “Sure.” Noctis brushed his sopping wet hair out of his face. “Is everyone here alright?”

“A few of the residents are upset, but most of them are used to it and know to ignore it. That lot out there come by every so often to shout abuse.” She looked troubled. “The crowd does seem larger today. I should’ve warned you. Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem.” Noctis rolled up his sleeves. “Where can I help you today?”

Rita nodded to the stairs. “We’re a bit short-handed in the nursery. Do you mind?”

“No.” Noctis, to his surprise, loved helping out in the nursery. All he had to do was play. It was easy work, and the children were too young to be formal. To them, he was just another, bigger, friend.

“You’ll be with the babies,” Rita said. “I hope that’s okay.”

The sounds of the protest faded as Noctis followed Rita up to the top floor of the refugee centre. They headed through the main part of the nursery, a brightly coloured room where toddlers raced back and forth, shrieking and playing. He waved hello. Some clung to his legs, begging him to play. He turned them down gently.

“Next time, okay?”

“Aw, no fair!” the children moaned.

Rita took him to the baby room. Within minutes, Noctis found himself in a rocking chair, a tiny baby girl in his arms. He made sure her blanket kept her dry, wishing he’d yanked his damp hoodie off before Rita handed the infant over. He didn’t want to make her sick or anything.

Rita held out a bottle. Noctis took it and gave it to the baby. She latched on, sucking energetically.

“Such a cutie,” Rita said. “Someone left her on the steps of the centre a few days ago. We don’t know anything about her. Can’t even be sure where she came from. But we’ll take care of her until she’s adopted.”

Noctis brushed a hand over the baby’s soft red hair. “She doesn’t even have a name?”

“No. Any ideas?”

Noctis stared up at Rita. “I… I can’t name a baby!”

“Of course you can! It’d be her honour. Imagine; she’ll be able to say the future King of Lucis named her.”

Noctis’ stomach tightened. _Future King_. He hated thinking like that. But he kept his face neutral. “I’ll see what I can come up with.” It would be something fun to tell Luna the next time her notebook returned. What would she think of him giving a child a name? He’d have to make sure it was something sensible but pretty. Something Luna would like.

Rita smiled. “Wonderful. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again for all your help, Your Highness.”

Rita slipped out. Noctis rocked back and forth, the unnamed baby suckling at the bottle. She grew sleepy. Time passed peacefully. He nearly nodded off himself. Only the tide of names racing through his mind kept him awake. Celes. Terra. Aqua. Tifa. Aerith. All pretty. None of them quite right for her.

Noctis brushed her soft cheek. “I wish I could ask Luna for an idea,” he told the baby. “She’d know better than me.”

The baby yawned in response.

Noctis smiled. “At least you’re not worried about it,” he said.

The baby fell asleep. Noctis shifted her until her head was tucked under his chin. She snuggled into his warmth. He kept rocking, trying to come up with a better name for her. Humming an old song, he reached for his phone. Muting the device, he sent a group message to Ignis, Prompto and Gladio. _Can anyone think of a good girl’s name? Asking for an actual baby girl without a name._

Waiting for replies in the quiet of the room, he realised he could still hear the protest outside. It seemed louder than before. That was probably his fault. He should’ve thought about it before trying to push through the crowd. But he’d already been so late…

His phone flashed. Ignis was the first to respond. _Why are you naming babies?_

Noctis typed back. _Rita at the refugee centre asked me to._

A message popped up from Prompto. _WHOA, DUDE! Is there something you need to tell us?_

Noctis’ cheeks burnt. _I’m helping out at the refugee centre in the western district. Someone left a baby here but she doesn’t have a name._

Prompto replied quickly. _Oooooh! That makes way more sense._

Gladio joined the conversation. _Iris suggested Tulip._

Noctis looked at the baby. _No. She’s not a flower name kind of person._

_Iris would like you to know your opinion on names is the worst._

Noctis laughed. The conversation went back and forth, with names being dismissed over and over again. Noctis knew it had to be good; the baby would carry it with her for the rest of her life. He didn’t want to burden her with anything too grandiose or too old fashioned or too out there.

The baby shifted against him. He looked at her, took in her tiny features. She was so little. Everything about her was just so small. She didn’t need a long, heavy name. She needed something delicate. Something light and easy.

“Maybe… Nina?”

He liked it, liked the musical simplicity of it. Nina. Baby Nina.

He messaged it to his friends.

 _That’s quite lovely,_ Ignis replied.

Prompto sent a thumbs up.

 _Iris still thinks Tulip is_ _better,_ Gladio responded.

Noctis began typing a response when a loud crash stopped him. Mashing the icons on his phone, he accidentally sent a nonsensical message. Not having time to explain it or what was happening, Noctis held Nina close and stood up. His phone clattered to the floor, sliding beneath a cot. The door opened, and Rita came in, her eyes wide with panic.

“What’s wrong?” Noctis asked.

“The protestors have broken in. They’re not normally so brazen,” Rita said. Panic shone in her eyes. “The police are on their way, but I don’t know if they’ll be here soon enough. I hope you don’t mind, but I might’ve mentioned you were here. Only in the hopes of getting them here faster.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Suspecting he was the reason the protestors were being obnoxious, Noctis passed Nina over. “I’ll do what I can to help. Make sure the children stay in the nursery. Don’t let anyone out.”

“Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly let you –”

“It’s okay,” Noctis said. He dredged up a reassuring smile. “Oh, and her name is Nina.”

“Nina.” Rita’s smile was tense. “That’s a lovely name.”

“Take care of her,” Noctis said. “I’ll be back. Lock all the doors behind me and don’t come out until it’s safe.” He thought fast. “Barricade them if you have to.”

Rita straightened. “We will. Please be careful.”

He dashed out of the nursery, not stopping to comfort the wailing children. He stepped out into the hallway, and immediately the sounds of shouting and violence grew louder. Running for the stairwell, he looked down and saw people racing towards him. He ran down to meet them, blocking their access to the higher levels.

“There he is,” one of the protestors spat. “His Royal Uselessness thinks he can tell us what we can and cannot say!”

Ignoring the flutter in his heart, Noctis drew himself up to his full height. “You’re not going any further.”

The protestors roared and threw themselves forwards. Noctis blocked the punches and kicks aimed at him. He lashed out, disabling anyone who came too close. He couldn’t use weapons or magic against these people. They had to be stopped, not killed. So he opted to break noses and dislocate limbs, just like Gladio had trained him to do.

Some of the protestors made a run for it. Noctis let them go. They weren’t his problem. The four men who seemed determined to beat him into the ground were the ones he had to worry about. The four, all as broad and tall as Gladio, surrounding him, pinning him in place.

“Must be our lucky day,” said a bald man. “Pretty dumb move coming here on your own, boy.”

“Take him down!” One with slicked back blond hair roared. He had the overblown musculature of a steroid-addicted body builder. He looked at his comrades. “You know what to do. We take him, and we use him to get what we want. No more refugees! No more scroungers!”

The group roared their approval. The bald man took the lead. Noctis spied the knife in his hands. He blocked the swing and tore the blade out of his grip. Noctis sent it into the Armiger; that would keep it out of the wrong hands.

“What the hell?” the bald man gasped. “What did you do with my knife?”

Noctis punched him in the face. The bald man toppled, unconscious before he hit the ground.

One down, three to go.

“Back me up!” the blond ordered his friends.

Noctis ducked the punches coming at his face, but he left his back wide open. A fist pummelled into his kidneys. Pain radiated, his back struggling with the blow. The attacker seized the advantage and kicked Noctis’ legs. His knees gave out and he hit the ground hard. Rolling, he dodged a foot aimed at his stomach. He flipped back to his feet, planting his left foot and kicking out with his right. The toes of his boot smashed into the blond’s jaw. Noctis heard teeth and bone breaking. The man went down and didn’t get back up, blood dribbling over his lips.

Two left.

One had strange scars on either side of his mouth, like someone had taken a knife to his smile and widened it. He smirked at Noctis, the expression too long. He had something in his hand, some kind of thin metal blade, but he slipped it out of sight before Noctis could really see it.

“Get out of our way, kid,” the scarred guy said. “Don’t you wanna reclaim your city from the trash?”

“Yeah,” Noctis said. “Trash like you.”

The other attacker, a mountain of a man with grey hair, laughed. “Nice one, kid.”

He threw himself at Noctis. Noctis dodged, but the scarred man was there, his fist burying itself in Noctis’ stomach. Winded, Noctis doubled over. He couldn’t defend himself and the grey-haired man grabbed him, pinning his arms behind his back. Unable to fight back without dislocating both his shoulders, Noctis was helpless as the man shoved him onto the ground.

“If you won’t help us, then I guess we’ll just have to follow our orders all the way through,” the grey-haired man said. “Like my buddy said, today’s our lucky day. Because we’ve been waiting for you to show your face around here again. People talk no matter how careful you think you’re being.”

Orders? What was he talking about? Noctis struggled, but the pain in his shoulders was too much to bear.

“Now, now, Your Highness,” the scarred man said. “Don’t fight. Do what we want, and we won’t burn this place and every fucker in it to the ground.”

“There are children here!” Noctis cried out.

“So? They’re not _our_ children. We don’t need the likes of them here,” the scarred man spat. “Scum, every last one of ‘em.”

A heavy weight landed on Noctis’ back. His bones creaked as the scarred man sat on him. Something cold and sharp pressed against his back.

The scarred man laughed. “Take it like a man,” he snarled.

Something sharp pierced Noctis’ skin. Moments later, he felt a strange, bitterly cold liquid seep into his veins. It reminded him of the time he’d miscast a Blizzard spell and almost frozen himself instead. But this wasn’t magic. They’d injected him with something.

He fought back, but there was no point. The grey-haired man let Noctis go because already the drug took hold. The world swam around him. Noctis lashed out at the pair, but they dodged with ease. Knowing he was in serious, desperate trouble, Noctis tried to use magic. It was no good. The Crystal’s power slipped uselessly through him.

“Grab him,” the scarred man said. “They’ll have to listen to us if we’ve got their precious prince.”

Meaty hands grabbed Noctis. He couldn’t fend them off. His limbs flopped uselessly. Thick, sickly sleep oozed over him. He fought back against it, tried to keep his eyes open, but the drug coiled around him, pulling him into its cloying embrace. Strange shadows and bursts of light shot across his failing vision. Voices called out from somewhere unseen. He struggled to stay awake, clawed at the waking world, but the poison in his veins submerged him.

“Night, kid,” the scarred man said.

Vision warping, Noctis sank beneath a deluge.

* * *

The doors to the training hall slammed open. Gladio looked over from where he’d been cleaning the training supplies after sparring with Iris and saw Cor staring at him.

“Gladiolus. Come with me right now.”

Gladio didn’t argue. “Sir?”

“We’ve just received a call from the police. A refugee centre in the western district is under attack.”

Gladio flew across the room. “Noct’s there.”

“I know. It’s why we received the call.” Cor moved alongside Gladio. “Protestors broke in. Police say some raced back out, but they have intelligence placing a fringe nationalist group among them.”

Gladio mastered his panic. “Noct can fight.”

“He can, but he’s alone in a building full of civilians who cannot,” Cor said. “We need to get there.”

“Has the King been informed?” Gladio asked as they boarded a lift bound for the parking lot.

“He has, and he wants us there.”

They reached the parking lot and, without a word, slid into the fastest car available to them. Cor took the wheel while Gladio updated Ignis via text: _Noct’s in trouble. Meet us at the refugee centre._

Ignis was prompt as ever. _I’m on my way._

The car hit the streets. Heavy rain smeared the windows. Cor had to turn the wipers on full to see anything. He wove the car through the traffic with an expert’s touch. Gladio didn’t distract him. He glanced at his phone. He wanted to call Noctis, find out if he was alright, but then he remembered the last text they’d received in the group chat. Just a garble of letters. When was that? Ten minutes ago at least…

If Noctis hadn’t called, it probably meant he couldn’t.

They reached the refugee centre within twenty minutes thanks to Cor’s driving. Not even the protesting crowds packing out the streets could stop him.

“What are these people doing?” Gladio asked.

“Getting in my way,” Cor muttered.

The police had a perimeter around the four-storey building. Stepping out of the car, Gladio couldn’t hear anything over the sound of howling and screaming protestors. Police in riot uniforms held them back. Cor and Gladio found the commander in charge of the police operation. Shouting to be heard, she gave them a rapid update: over twenty nationalists had been arrested, her officers were still sweeping the building floor by floor.

“Has anyone found Prince Noctis?” Cor asked.

“No,” the commander said. “We’ve got every exit covered, so no one’s gonna be escaping from here. But we haven’t made it to the nursery yet on the top floor. It’s a huge place and there’s a lot of places for people to hide. We’re having trouble finding all the protestors.”

A tense smile flitted across Gladio’s face. He turned to Cor. “Noct’s in the nursery. He wanted our help naming a baby.”

Cor nodded. “Let’s go.”

They moved into the building. Shouts rang out, the protestors still inside the building hollering foul obscenities as the police dragged them out of the building. Gladio shoved his way past anyone in his path. He had to get to the nursery. Noctis needed him.

Gladio reached the fourth floor. The police hadn’t made it that far yet. He stepped over a number of unconscious, beaten and bloodied protestors.

“It seems you weren’t wrong about the prince’s abilities,” Cor said.

“Yeah, but where is he?” Gladio asked.

“Nearby, hopefully,” Cor said, hand resting on his ever-present katana.

Gladio heard the sounds of crying children nearby. Moving silently, he and Cor crept down the long corridor.

A shout rang out. “I will cut his fucking throat if you don’t let me in there!”

A muffled woman’s voice shouted back. “The police are here. You need to leave!”

Gladio heard a nasty laugh. “They won’t lay a finger on us when they see who we’ve got.”

Cor laid a hand on Gladio’s shoulder before he could go charging in. “Slowly,” he said, voice low. “We can’t risk the civilians.”

Reining in his impatience, Gladio nodded. He followed Cor to where the corridor turned a corner. He peeked around the wall. He saw two men and…

He snapped his head back. “They’ve got Noct,” he whispered. “Something’s wrong.” His hands curled into fists. “It looks like he’s unconscious.”

Anger flashed in Cor’s eyes. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll cause a distraction. Grab Noctis and get him out of here. Take him to safety.”

“I will.”

Cor slid his katana from its sheath and turned the corner. Shouts went out, followed by the sweet song of his blade slicing through the air. The next sounds were screams of agony and two strangely wet thuds. Gladio threw himself around the corner and didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the sight of one grey-haired man now lacking both of his forearms.

The other man was stupid enough to throw himself at Cor. His scream cut off with a hideous gargle. Moments later Gladio heard a wet thud. He didn’t look. He grabbed Noctis, threw him over his shoulder, and left Cor to it. The older man called out to the people in the nursery, assuring them they were now safe.

Gladio truly hoped that was the truth. But when he reached street level, he soon saw that Cor’s hope was misplaced. It was a full on battle outside, with the police fighting back against a raging tide of protestors who now outnumbered them.

“No way we’re going out the front door,” Gladio told Noctis.

Noctis didn’t answer. Gladio’s stomach tightened with fear. He glanced at Noctis, seeing how pale he was. Gladio tried to wake him, but Noctis was unresponsive.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Gladio said. “I’ve got you.”

Shifting Noctis onto one shoulder, Gladio raced to the back entrance. The police were there, just about holding the perimeter.

“Gladio!”

Gladio saw Ignis pushing past a police officer. He ran over. The police stepped aside, allowing him to pass. “Tell me the car’s nearby.”

“It’s –”

A burning glass bottle sailed over their heads and crashed through the refugee centre’s window. Flames burst out. Shouts and screams followed.

“Go!” the policeman shouted, pushing Gladio and Ignis behind him. “Get out of here!”

“This way,” Ignis said. “The car’s not far. But I’m not sure where we’re going to go. The roads into the city centre have been blocked off. I barely made it through. This protest has spread across a number of areas, and they’re being confronted by police and counter-protestors at every turn. We’re not going to be able to get to the Citadel with ease.”

“Dammit,” Gladio said. He scrawled through a mental list of places they could safely lie low on this side of the city. “Wait. I got it.”

“Where?” Ignis demanded.

“Prompto’s.”

* * *

Noise. Cold. Movement. What was happening to him? Noctis struggled to open his eyes. Had something happened to his eyelids? Had someone glued them together? He cracked them, only for them to slam shut again. A thick headache lodged itself in his brain.

Haze shrouded his thoughts. He was so cold. Like ice coated him. And tired. Too tired. Everything felt a hundred times harder than it should be.

He rested his eyes for a moment, listening instead. He could hear voices, but they were too slow and too deep. He knew them. Ignis. Gladio. Why did they sound so weird? Noctis tried to speak. He needed to tell them something was wrong. What was it? Something sliding through him, cold and powerful.

Magic. It was his magic.

Stop it. He… he needed to…

His thoughts drifted away from him. He blacked out again.

* * *

The doorbell rang. Prompto paused the game and stood up, trying to remember if his parents were expecting any deliveries. He walked over to the front door and opened it. His mouth dropped open. Words failed him.

Gladio, arms full of _Noctis_ , pushed his way in. “Don’t just stand there,” he said.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. What is going on?” Prompto asked, stumbling out of the way. “What’s wrong with Noct?”

Ignis stepped in. “There’s an ongoing incident right now,” he said. “We need a place to lie low for a while.”

Prompto closed – and bolted – the front door. “What happened?”

Ignis quickly filled him in while Gladio settled Noctis on the couch.

“That’s terrible,” Prompto said. He closed one hand around his wrist, fingers squeezing the old sweatband resting there. “Why would people be so cruel?”

“Because they’re selfish and ignorant,” Gladio said distractedly. He had his hand on Noctis’ forehead. “Something’s not right, Ignis. He’s freezing. And… it’s like he’s asleep but… I dunno. We need a doctor.”

“Not a risk we can take right now,” Ignis said. “Not until the protestors, and their anarchist friends, are safely dealt with.” He walked over and checked Noctis’ vitals. “Prompto, would you kindly fetch a pillow and blankets?”

“Yeah.” Prompto dashed off upstairs and raided the closet where his mom kept all the spare blankets and pillows. The _fancy_ pillows and blankets for when special people came to visit. Once, years before he’d become friends with Noctis, he’d asked _why can’t we use them? It’s not like the king’s ever gonna come to stay._ To which she’d replied _you always have to keep the fancy bedding in case the King comes to visit._

Well, maybe not King Regis, but Will Be King Someday Noctis sure had come to visit. Despite everything, Prompto chuckled. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom her fancy bedding had finally been used by royalty. He’d text her just as soon as he was sure Noctis was alright.

Back downstairs, Prompto found Ignis on the phone and Gladio staring unblinkingly at Noctis. Noctis’ eyes were closed, but he was too pale to look like he was sleeping peacefully, and Prompto could see him shivering even from a distance.

“Here,” Prompto said, handing the blankets and pillow over.

“Thanks.” Gladio took them, tucking them around Noctis. The shivering didn’t abate. “Do you have anything we can warm him up with?”

“Yeah, let me make some hot water bottles.”

Prompto dashed through to the kitchen, filled the kettle and set it to boil while he dug out the three hot water bottles he knew they owned. One for each family member. When they were ready a few minutes later, he slid them into their covers and carried them back into the lounge. “Here.”

Gladio took them, sliding them under the blankets. “There you go,” he said. “You’re okay, Noct. You just gotta wake up.”

Noctis’ eyes opened. Prompto flinched at how blue they were, his irises tiny pinpricks. “Noct?” he asked, voice high with fear. “You okay?”

A faint frown marred Noctis’ forehead, but otherwise he didn’t react. His glassy eyes slowly slid closed again.

“What did they give him?” Prompto asked.

“I don’t know,” Gladio said. “But we can’t leave him. Not until he’s properly awake.”

“I thought he woke up just now,” Prompto said.

“He was like that in the car on the way over,” Gladio said. “His eyes open, but I don’t think he’s awake. Not properly.”

“What if he can hear us but can’t talk?” Prompto asked.

“He knows he’s not alone,” Gladio said.

Ignis ended his call. He sighed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “The protest shows no sign of abating,” he said. “There are now reports of looting and violence. I’ve informed the Crownsguard of our situation.” He looked down at Noctis who still shivered beneath the blankets. “They’ve advised us to seek medical attention only if his condition worsens. Right now, we need to stay out of sight. If we’re seen by the nationalists, we’ll be in far more serious trouble.”

“But… but… how is this happening?” Prompto blurted out. “I thought it was a random attack at the refugee centre.”

“No, it seems far more coordinated than that,” Ignis said. “A number of anti-immigration protests sprung up across the city today and have now merged to clash with counter-protestors who arrived to show support for our refugee initiatives. Until we get the all clear, we need to stay here.”

“Stay as long as you need,” Prompto said.

“Thank you,” Ignis said. He moved to Noctis’ side, checking his temperature. “He’s getting colder.”

“How is that possible?” Gladio asked.

“I don’t know.” Ignis gripped Noctis’ hand. “Noct? You need to wake up.”

Nothing. Noctis just continued to shiver despite the hot water bottles.

“I’ll get more blankets,” Prompto said, running upstairs again.

Ignis looked at Gladio. “I don’t like this,” he said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to scare Prompto. “This reaction doesn’t seem right. Why would his attackers drug him with something that would cause this kind of an effect?”

“You think he’s having a bad reaction?”

Ignis crouched at Noctis’ side. “After the Marilith, I remember King Regis explaining to me that due to their connection to the Crystal, both he and Noctis react differently to medicine.” The memory wasn’t a pleasant one. Regis and Ignis had been booted from Noctis’ bedroom by the doctors trying to find something that would sufficiently deal with the pain. They’d had to listen to Noctis crying out in agony until, at last, whatever combination of potions and medicine worked to ease his pain. It was only a few days later when Regis had taken Noctis to Tenebrae. Ignis shook off the memory. “I think that’s what’s happening here. His body, the drug, and the Crystal are all fighting each other.”

“How do we help?” Gladio asked.

“Monitor him,” Ignis said.

Prompto returned with more blankets. He made his way over to Noctis. Something strange caught his eye. “Guys?”

“What is it?” Gladio asked.

Dropping his armful of blankets, Prompto reached for the one covering Noctis. And what he revealed confused him so much, he could only turn to Gladio and Ignis and hope one of them have had an answer.

“That’s not good,” Ignis said.

“Not good?” Prompto asked. “He’s freezing! In the totally literal sense.”

Because now they could see why they couldn’t warm Noctis up; thick ice closed around his feet, and slowly crept upwards.

Gladio crouched down. “He’s using magic.” He punched the ice, but it did not crack. “Shit.”

Prompto moved the hot water bottles, pressing them closer to Noctis’ chest. “Now would be a really good time to wake up.”

* * *

Cold. He was so, so cold. The sound of it dragged Noctis from sleep. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a familiar place.

Prompto’s house.

But it was wrong.

Frozen.

Everything was covered in snow and ice. Confused, he stood, his feet crunching through snow. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, desperately trying to hug some warmth into his own body. How was he here? Why was he here? And why was it frozen? Dammit – had he accidentally set of a Blizzard spell?

“Prompto?” Noctis called.

No answer.

“Prompto, are you here?”

Sound whispered through the frigid air. It sounded like a voice, but it was too thin and too far away to make sense of.

Noctis crunched across the living room, a cold wind stirring in his wake. Maybe Prompto was upstairs? Grabbing the bannister, Noctis headed up. He moved through the bedrooms and bathroom, finding nothing but snow and ice smothering every surface. “Prompto?”

The sound came again. The ghost of a voice calling his name. Noctis turned.

Someone familiar disappeared downstairs.

“Prompto, wait! Where are you going?”

Noctis rushed after him, but when he reached the top of the stairs, his foot slipped on the ice. He fell. He expected to hit the ground. He didn’t. He just kept falling, down, down, down, into icy darkness.

* * *

Prompto couldn’t believe what he was watching. Ice crept over Noctis’ legs, freezing him. Nothing they tried melted it. Gladio managed to chip some of it away, only for it to refreeze within minutes. If they didn’t do something soon, Noctis’ own magic would freeze him to death long before he hit Stasis.

Prompto crouched down by his friend, holding his cold hands. “Come on, Noct. You gotta wake up.”

Noctis stirred. “Prompto?” he murmured.

“Yeah!” Prompto’s heart leapt. “Yeah, Noct, I’m here. I’m –”

Noctis’ fingers twitched, like they wanted to reach out. “Where are you going?”

“What?” Prompto asked.

“He’s dreaming,” Gladio said.

“But he knows I’m here,” Prompto said.

“Perhaps Noct is conscious on some level,” Ignis said.

Prompto squeezed Noctis’ bitterly cold hand. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You gotta wake up. Open your eyes and you’ll see. I’m right here.”

Noctis lapsed into silent shivering.

“Come on,” Prompto said, voice cracking. “You can’t freeze yourself to death in my house.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Ignis said. “We have to stay calm and think of a way to wake him up,” Ignis said.

“We need to snap him out of it,” Gladio said.

“Some kind of shock to the system, yes.” Ignis thought hard. “I wonder if smelling salts might work.”

“I don’t have anything like that,” Prompto said.

“You don’t need to,” Ignis said. “I can make an equivalent. Would you show me to your bathroom?”

Prompto took Ignis upstairs. He stood back and watched as Ignis rummaged through the closet containing all of the cleaning materials. He grabbed Prompto’s small wash basin and poured bleach and other cleaners into it.

“Be careful,” Prompto said. “You don’t wanna accidentally poison yourself.” The pungent odour smacked Prompto in the face. Wincing, he tugged his t-shirt over his mouth and nose. “Oh, dude, that’s powerful.”

“Quite,” Ignis said. He picked up his concoction. “Let’s hope it works.”

By the time they got it back downstairs, Ignis and Prompto’s eyes watered with the stench of it. Gladio grabbed the bucket out of Ignis’ hands. “Fresh air,” he said. “Now.”

Ignis and Prompto agreed and disappeared through the kitchen to Prompto’s small garden.

Gladio took the bucket to Noctis, the stench assaulting him. He held it under Noctis’ nose and watched his friend stirring uneasily. “That’s it,” Gladio said. “Wakey wakey.” Within seconds his eyes watered. “Sometime today, Noct.”

Noctis fell out of the darkness. Smeared light surrounded him, punctuated by blurred, shapeless forms. His head pounded, his nostrils full of an acrid stench. Neither the smell nor the headache compared to the bitter chill encasing him.

Hands grabbed his upper arms, squeezing so hard he could feel the bruises forming. “Stay awake.”

He looked up, saw a hulking blur standing over him. “Gladio?”

“Listen to me. You’ve been drugged and you’re using magic. You’re freezing your own body. You need to stay awake and focus otherwise – ”

Gladio’s words disappeared into a fuzz of noise. Light faded. Cold, cold darkness slipped over Noctis.

“No! Wake up!”

Pain stung Noctis’ face. His eyes sprung open. The world was still blurry, the shapes vaguely sharper than before.

“Stay awake,” Gladio said, dragging him upright. “Fight it. You need to control your magic.”

Noctis felt the drain. Magic flowed out of him, the stream steadily driving him closer to Stasis. That only exhausted him further. “Gladio,” he murmured. “I can’t… can’t keep my eyes open.” He sagged forwards. “Feel sick.” Moments later, he threw up over Gladio’s feet. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Forget it. Just stay awake,” Gladio said. “You’re gonna freeze yourself to death if you don’t.”

Noctis tried to gather his magic. It slipped through his fingers, tickling like soft silk.

His body chilled. He shivered so hard it made the nausea worse. Sleep swept in and magic ducked out of his control.

The acrid stench slapped him again. He reeled back, brain spinning and lungs aching. “Wh-what?” He looked up, and this time his sight coalesced into something more useful. He could see the panic in Gladio’s face.

“Try again,” Gladio said. “You need to stop your magic.”

He tried. His concentration slipped all over the place, his mind skating over ice. But it was there. The magic. He reached for it and it came to him, eager as ever. Instead of pulling on it, he pushed it away.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep going.”

Noctis pushed it away. All of it. The Crystal’s power withdrew, falling away until it was merely the familiar presence in the core of his being.

“You did it!”

Noctis looked up. He watched Gladio carrying the bucket away, calling for the others. Noctis clung onto wakefulness, even though he wanted to close his eyes and sleep. He shuddered with the cold. He couldn’t warm himself up. He couldn’t even find the energy to move and find out why his legs felt so wet. It took every scrap of concentration he had to keep his eyes open. A momentary lapse and his eyes would close.

“Noct!” It was Prompto. He came running. “You’re awake! And not a Noctsicle anymore!”

“A what?” Noctis asked. The words stuttered out of him now his body shivered so violently. How much ice magic had he unloaded onto himself?

“Oh, gross, did you hurl on my floor?”

Noctis’ teeth chattered so much he couldn’t spit out an apology.

Ignis stepped up. “We need to warm you up.”

“Yeah, you kinda soaked my couch when you melted the ice,”Prompto added.

Too sluggish to argue, Noctis found himself lifted off of Prompto’s couch and dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table by Gladio. Noctis tried not to wobble, but in the end Gladio had to hold him in place.

“You gotta stay awake,” Gladio said.

“Why?” He felt awful. His stomach churned, his head throbbed, and his legs stung like he’d burned them.

Or frozen them.

“Who knows what magic you’ll unleash next if you fall asleep,” Gladio said.

Ignis issued orders, telling Prompto to gather warm blankets and reheat the hot water bottles. Noctis tried to speak, but the words broke into pieces. He wanted to curl up under a mountain of blankets and sleep, but it seemed his friends had other ideas. They poked, prodded, changed clothes much to his drowsy embarrassment, and kept talking to him whether he liked it or not. At some point he threw up again. He mumbled apologies, but every time he tried to rest his pounding head on the table, someone forced him to sit up again.

“You must stay awake,” Ignis said. “Every time you drift off, your magic starts up again.”

Now that Ignis mentioned it, Noctis could feel the ebb and pull of magic. However, no matter how hard he tried, his mind hit a brick wall when he tried to remember why any of this was happening. Had he done something stupid during training? If so, why was he at Prompto’s place? And why did he feel so awful?

Suddenly, his friends decided sitting wasn’t good enough. They took turns to haul him out of the chair and pace back and forth across the living room. Miserably awake and only vaguely coherent, Noctis saw the green sweatpants someone had put him in were dusted with frost.

“Yeah, you did that,” Gladio said from his side.

“Here.” Prompto wrapped a blanket around Noctis. “There!”

Body racked with shivers and shakes, legs throbbing mercilessly, Noctis huddled under the blanket. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember why he felt so bad. “What’s going on?” Noctis mumbled.

“It’s the drugs,” Gladio said. “They dosed you pretty good.”

“Drugs?”

“Worry about it later,” Gladio said. “Just focus on staying awake and not using magic.”

Noctis’ head thudded against Gladio’s shoulder. “It’s hard,” he said, the word slurring. Ice magic called to him, wrapping around him.

“Could be worse,” Gladio said, jabbing him in the ribs to jolt him awake again. “At least you aren’t setting us all on fire or sending lightning all over Prompto’s house.”

The tide of magic changed, taking on different elements.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Noct, no!”

“Sorry.” He strained himself to keep the magic inside. The effort exhausted him, leaving him shivering and sweating under the blankets he clung to. His body swayed, vision crackling. Gladio caught him before he hit the ground. “Tired,” Noctis mumbled.

“I know you are,” Gladio said. “You’ll be able to sleep as long as you like later. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

Taking a deep breath, Noctis did as he was told.

Hours crept by. Noctis kept apologising. It wasn’t fair that his friends had to keep walking with him, even if he had no idea why they were doing it to begin with. When his nausea finally settled down, they plied him with food and sugary, caffeinated drinks. The tiredness didn’t leave him, but the sugar left him feeling wired. It made it easier to control his magic, which meant his friends finally trusted him to sit down and not accidentally set something on fire the moment he passed out.

Jittery with sugar, Noctis stared at the TV. He had to cock his head and keep one eye shut to make the screen stop twirling and blurring. The headlines finally brought his memory screaming back to the surface. He looked at his friends. “Are the refugees alright?”

“Cor’s there,” Gladio said. “And the police. Trust me, they’re fine. Your would-be abductors, however, are not.”

Noctis couldn’t relax. “It’s my fault,” he said. Despite hours of walking, he wanted to get up and run back to the refugee centre. “The protestors wouldn’t have broken in if I hadn’t been there.” His heart squeezed when he thought of little Nina. What if she’d been hurt?

“It’s not your fault!” Prompto said. “You didn’t start the protest or the riots.”

Noctis didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his blurry eyes off the news. He needed to know if the refugee centre was safe. Still shivering under the blankets, he glared at the TV. He only relaxed when, an hour later, he saw the protests had petered out and the refugee centre was safe with minimal casualties.

“I’ll get an update from the Citadel,” Ignis said. “Perhaps it’s safe for us to take Noct home now.” He slipped out of the room.

Noctis sank into the chair, allowing himself to wallow in the pain in his body. He closed his eyes, his aching brain snapping between hyper-aware and totally drained.

“Need anything?” Prompto asked.                                                                          

“Painkillers?” Noctis asked without opening his eyes.

“No,” Gladio said. “Not with that other drug still in your system.”

Noctis desperately wanted to sleep. With his magic firmly under control, he knew he could. But his brain wouldn’t shut off. He was jittery, his aching leg jumping and dancing. Eyes closed, a huge sigh escaped him.

“You did good,” Gladio said. “Took those guys out just like I taught you.”

“Sorta,” Noctis said.

“You’re still learning,” Gladio said. “Next time, you know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Noctis said. “Freeze them instead.”

“How are your legs?” Prompto asked.

“Thawed,” Noctis said. Everything ached. And where he’d been too cold before, now he was too hot. He fought his way free of the blankets. He just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn’t his brain just be quiet for a moment? His thoughts kept leaping and dancing, never settling.

Ignis came back in. “We’re going to the Citadel,” he said. “King Regis wants to ensure you’re seen by an appropriate physician. After that, you can sleep.”

Sighing, Noctis got to his feet, clinging onto Ignis for balance. He said farewell to Prompto, promised to call as soon as he had a phone to replace the one he’d left at the refugee centre, and allowed himself to be taken to the car.

“We’ll be home soon,” Ignis said.

Noctis drifted in and out of sleep on the long drive back to the Citadel, the journey-time doubled by the amount of diversions in place. By the time they reached the Citadel, Noctis didn't care where he went so long as it had a bed. Gladio and Ignis helped lead him through the corridors back to his old rooms. A doctor met them there. Gladio took his leave.

“Thanks,” Noctis said. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Gladio said. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ignis stayed with him while the doctor checked Noctis over. Noctis endured the examination. He didn’t even complain when the doctor attached him to an IV to help his body flush the drug out. He was too wrung out to care about a _sharp scratch_. He was too happy at the prospect of sleeping for as long as he possibly could.

“Get some rest, Your Highness,” the doctor said with a friendly smile. “It’s the best thing for you.”

Sliding closer to a stupor, Noctis willingly closed his eyes. “Ignis?” he murmured.

“Yes?”

“You and Gladio are never gonna let me go to the refugee centre on my own again, are you?”

“No,” Ignis said.

“Fine,” Noctis said through a yawn. “Maybe if you ask really nicely they’ll let you name a baby too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not many requests left now. See you all next week for more ^_^


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